Don't Think Twice
by ignotumvirtus
Summary: They have some adjusting to do. It's going to take some precious time, but Amy's finding that she's alright with that. Oneshot.


_**A/N: Fill for the "_ Me" Meme. Requested by danicashipper on tumblr, sorry it's late babe! Enjoy~**_

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_Nurse Me: One character healing another_

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Amy doesn't say anything when Jake bolts out of bed, rolling onto the balls of his feet and suddenly hurries down the hallway. She doesn't call after him because it has come to the point where his nightmares are of their sleeping routine, or rather, a _lack-of-sleeping _routine. Amy pushes herself up slowly as the hallway light flickers on, bathing half of her in a white glow. She props herself up on her elbows and peers at the clock, where the obnoxious red numbers spell out the time.

_2:15 AM_

She sighs, swinging her legs off the bed and letting her feet hit the floor. The blankets fall to the floor in a messy heap, leaving her suddenly cold. She stands, cracking the stiff joint in her shoulders and neck. Amy contemplates putting on then decides against it, too groggy to care that she's only in a pair of panties and an old academy shirt. Yawning, she paces steadily down the hallway, already expecting what he's up to before she even enters the living room.

"Jake?" she calls into the semi-darkness of the room, fumbling for the switch. Her hand collides into Jake's when she finds it, making her yelp and take a step back. Light suddenly fills the room, and she blinks a couple times to adjust. Jake stares back at her with a blank expression that contrasts with the turmoil in his eyes. Amy swallows down the bile that rises in her throat at the sight of him, and opts for lighter conversation. "Jesus," she chuckles, though it sounds forced. "You scared me." Her laugh is met with silence and her next joke dies in the back of her throat. "Jake," she murmurs seriously, taking his face in her hands. His expression doesn't change a bit. "What happened?" Amy finally asks. Jake exhales, shoulders sagging when her hands trail down his neck.

"Nothing," he mumbles, wrapping his arms around her waist. "It was nothing." Amy ignores the loss of oxygen when she crushes him to his chest and holds him tighter.

"It wasn't nothing," she argues quietly, trying to not to stumble over her words when she feels him silently sobbing into her shirt. He doesn't want to talk about it, she knows, because _Jake _and _talking about feelings _were two things that rarely went together. Even after everything he's gone through, his throat still constricts when he's asked about it. Amy hates the way he goes stiff when the therapists and investigators and the CIA agents question him, prod at him until he's suddenly sweating and gasping and yelling. She can't do that to him too.

"It _was _nothing," Jake refutes weakly, sounding even less convincing with the way his voice cracks at the end. His shaking now leaving Amy with the responsibility to suddenly shoulder his weight.

"Alright," she grunts, maneuvering them backwards into the couch. "It was nothing," she repeats. "You're right, it was nothing. Everything's okay."

She falls into his lap, and somehow Jake's face manages to stay buried into his shoulder. Amy lets his fists curl into the back of her T-shirt as she rubs his back comfortingly.

He dozes off eventually, so she slides off his lap and adjusts them both until his head is in her lap. Amy props her arm on the armrest and drops her chin into her palm, absently combing her fingers through his hair as she gazes out the window.

Amy's not good at it - the comforting thing - but she'll do anything now to get the dark circles under Jake's eyes to disappear. Even if she ends up acquiring the previously-mentioned dark circles on his behalf. She just wants him to sleep peacefully, _for once._

She's pulled out of her thoughts when Jake shifts, rolling off his side and onto his back. Her hand that was in his hair trails down to his chest, where she feels his heartbeat thumping against his ribs.

He mumbles her name in his sleep, making her own heart stutter.

Just the fact that he's _alive _and _okay _is enough for her eyes to flutter shut, just as the morning light filters through the living room blinds.

Jake wakes up on the couch, not an uncommon occurrence for him, but this time with a blanket haphazardly wrapped around him. Despite the warmth it provides, Jake feels the absence of a certain heat that's normally tucked into his side. He shoots upright, absolutely frantic.

"Amy?!" he shouts, stumbling to his feet and tripping over the blanket that's now wrapped around his legs. Jake hardly cares about his own predicament, instead he's surveying the apartment; the only part of his brain that's functioning is the one that's looking for Amy.

"Right here," she replies, and Jake swivels until he's facing the kitchen window. She's perched lazily on a stool, the wind ruffling her hair as she inhales the contents of a cigarette. Amy releases her smoke out the window, knowing how much Jake hates having the smell in his apartment. He stalks up to her and places his arms on either side of her, trapping her in her seat.

"I'm I really that bad?" he laughs bitterly, plucking the cigarette out of her hand and flicking out the window. Amy makes a startled noise, hand stretching out the window as if she means to reach for it. He pulls her back, grabbing her face in his hands roughly and making her look up at him. "Am I really?" he repeats. Amy's previously annoyed look softens into concern.

"No," she promises, hands pulling him closer by the waistband of his boxers. "Absolutely not." Jake bends down and kisses her, tasting her mouth despite the fact she sort of smells like an ashtray. He's sure his morning breath isn't any better anyway.

"Love you," Jake mumbles against her lips when they break apart, his eyes still screwed shut. He feels her smile.

"I love you too," she breathes, just as the alarm in the bedroom goes off. Jake peers up at the kitchen clock.

_6:00 AM_

The light catches in Amy's eyes as he leads her back down the hallway and to the shower, and he's stuck by just how pretty she is. His crude 'sex times' insinuation dies in his throat and he kisses her again, feeling his lungs finally expand as if something's been weighing down on his chest this whole time.

He's _alive_, he realizes. And Amy's here and she's always going to be here and he's going to be _okay._

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**This turned out more angsty than I expected it to. Oh well.**


End file.
